Soft thuds
\nof Colombian butterflies
\nin their glass displays.
\nI dreamed they came to life again.<\/p>\n
If Louis were here,
\nhe\u2019d groan: \u201cGo back to sleep,\u201d
\nand then blow out the candle. <\/p>\n
But he\u2019s far out at sea.<\/p>\n
I dreamed shells woke on the window sill,
\ntrembling with their inner oceans;<\/p>\n
a scraping from inside
\nhis crates and drawers until out
\nthronged hundreds of dead
\ncicadas. I dreamed <\/p>\n
the ibis’s pink
\ncall. A chameleon up the wall.
\nThe crocodile\u2019s tail sticking out
\nfrom underneath the bed,
\nstinking of swamp. <\/p>\n
I have called out for you
\nbut only your Alaskan owl replies,
\nsnow in her voice.<\/p>\n
An unseen snake drags
\nits rattle through the hallway. <\/p>\n
Bring me back something, I said,
\nand he brought me
\nfrom Koro Island
\nstones.<\/p>\n
He strokes my hair when I’m asleep.<\/p>\n
I dreamed his eight-hundred eggs hatched.
\nNot one stillborn.<\/p>\n
I have never written him while he was away.<\/p>\n
I dreamed the bathtub full of eels.
\nTheir private flashing in the dark.
\nThe splash and slosh
\nof wanting to live
\nwithout knowing it.<\/p>\n
I have waited for a letter seven months.
\nI hate to be alone with his dead things.<\/p>\n
The waves in the sea
\nshells keep lapping,
\nbreak against my ears tonight.
\nSeagulls cry far away;
\nthey haven’t seen him either.<\/p>\n
Dear Louis, I dreamed your moths unpinned
\nthemselves and flew away.<\/p>\n
The clatter of palm trees in the cicadas\u2019 song
\nflares up again.<\/p>\n
Do you save my letters?<\/p>\n
How does it feel to make indexes
\nyou know will never be complete?<\/p>\n
When he\u2019s not home, I take long walks and pick flowers.
\nI name them. Keep them secret.<\/p>\n
I dreamed the jaguars
\nlicked your bitter embalming oils
\noff each other.
\nTheir breath fogged the windows.
\nTheir deep black purrs filled me
\nwith want.<\/p>\n
Someone has brushed my hair
\nand clipped my nails.
\nI am propped up, made
\nto look like I am dreaming.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Soft thuds of Colombian butterflies in their glass displays. I dreamed they came to life again. If Louis were here, he\u2019d groan: \u201cGo back to sleep,\u201d and then blow out the candle. But he\u2019s far out at sea. I dreamed shells woke on the window sill, trembling with their inner oceans; a scraping from inside […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":150,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[333,334],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n